AHHHHh chooo

Still on my maroon couch as though I never got up from that spot. Still marooned as though I was nothing but a spot within the international framework of things and happenings. Struggling to piece my thoughts together in understandable prose and not simply high sounding affluence tailored to suit my whim. Eventually in between those sneezes I found some middle path of thought processes which I have now condemned to paper. Clearing all possible distractions I look outside and close the doors, but my Kristal still coons over skype. Shouting horse, horse behind me and then apologizing right after. Honey, i'm out for 20mins I say, its clear on the display. Honey I need to hear you voice she continues, and the fight ensues. Not between us both, for alas I am way to tired for war. But its an internal struggle between my love for conversation and my gracious desire to record this conversation. 
Music soothing my ears, quelling my emotions and somehow giving me that vix vapor rub down I so longed for. Its Tuesday evening and my energy is waning with three working days still to go. But again Kid Cudi to sooth my sorrow, so between now and tomorrow i'd forget my sickness even existed. My forefinger eager making its way up my nostril in a reflex action, not bothering to communicate this to my brain. For to maintain this relaxed disposition my mind must be focused. I think focus is my theory for life. The basis of my Ken Sambury philosophy. It all began long long time ago, when I still lived back home. In hindsight I can see what my father wanted, but the only problem their is that this is what "he wanted". I would enthusiastically seize mother's car keys, for every youth knew the way to driving the car was to wash the car. Dig through the cupboard picking out my instruments with much thought of its usage. I keep telling myself, I once saw a crack head wash a car with one bucket so since I have the hose, the shami cloth, the scrubbing brush and a full bottle of sqeezy a sparkling clean car was inevitable. First i'd turn the brass pipe and let the water loose in my breeze detergent bucket. IN the middle of this i'd run inside because I heard my cellular phone. Out of breath by the time I got to my room. Out of breath because of the almost impossible acrobatics leaping over the dinner table and through the "space saver" into my room. My phone was my portal to life and love, it could not remain unanswered. Just a brethen, so the call shouldn't last that long I would think. Walk to the fridge to choose my selection of juice.. hmm orange, grape, grape fruit. Slurp, Slurp and fifteen minutes would pass. Conscious not to wash and talk on the phone simultaneously because to see my nokia fall in water was my greatest phobia I would drop the call. Back outside the bucket now overflowing for minutes causing a nice wide river down the yard. And like any fifteen year old I would immediately make a paper boat and let it set sail down the drain. Granted the survival of the boat out of the garage alone was phenomenal I was forced to follow my creation down the street. Eventually I .......... will be continued in the morning!)